Prelude

'Tis hard, thinking of one's past, As we huddle hear in this strange forest;

'Tis hard for Maglor to remember his first love: coal-eyed Tara, Standing naked in the moonlight, Her skin translucent, pale, Her soft sighs as Maglor took her into his arms, The warmth of her enveloping body;

Further, I cannot go; I cannot bear to think of the cruel betrayal, By those whom I love!

But this much, Maglor knows: That all love is a betrayal; That all love causes one to be blind, to be foolish;

My new companions sleep softly, It is my watch; They trust me, this I know, too; And they look to me for something, Something that perhaps I cannot give, For fear....fear of betrayal;

Lovely Polradia, I can leave you now, Knowing that noble Grimbergen will care for you, And knowing that my new-found friends will do quite well without their bard, Their foolish rhymster, With his foolish heart;

When next you wake, you band of saviors, Maglor will be gone; He will take his aching heart and run; Perhaps to some house of ill-repute, There to sing into his cup, And while away his life in blissful stupor!

Forgive me, my new friends! And most especially, thee, Polradia! Maglor has failed his test of courgage And must away....and must away!

Maglor leans down and brushes his lips to Polradia's cheek, then steals away.....

Pol settled back with a sigh, a bit apart from the rest of the others, in no mood to talk with anyone, not even to flirt with T.A. or Maglor. Angrily she kicked at a rock sending it flying off into the night. Her mind was a whirl of dark thoughts, as it caroomed from one disaster to the other, first she had failed to spot the trap door, then in the caverns, she kept missing first one trap then another. Finally, and worst of all, she blundered into the enemy drawing there fire to the rest of the unprepared group, the enemy should not have spotted her, she was in stealth, but they did.

Truth was, she had become so angy and flustered at herself for missing the damned trap door. And...well...when the others demoted her and lost faith in what were her only real abilities, then...well it was striking all too close to how she saw herself: a failure. Blinking back tears of anger and frustration, she hung her head. Thinking about the only failure that had ever really mattered, the one that cost her da his life. Somehow the group in their actions only served to confirm her worthlessness in her own mind, and sighing, Pol now considered her role.

The hell with it she decided, streaching her legs in front of her, a screw up I am and so a screw up I will be. You can't fail at what you don't take seriously right? You can't be hurt and you can't care about what doesn't matter, right? So let kryil do the work, I'll hang back, disarm the traps, open the chests, and well..keep to myself. Who needs the burden of it anyway, who needs the stress of making another mistake and costing another beloved comrade their life? For as Pol looked the direction of the group, she realized how deeply she was coming to care for each and everyone of them, and to admire them as well...but when thinking about her da. She nods, I don't that on my shoulders. But no one is my boss.

Shivering, so cold, so alone, so empty, except for the tears. She curls up into a tight ball and closes her eyes weeping bitterly and silently, her thoughts filled with her beloved da. Oh da, oh da, I am so sorry I did'nt mean to...

Finally falling asleep something wakes her briefly during the night, some stirring that alerts her keen rogue senses. Hmmm she thinks, thought I heard something, a shadow stirring, a brush on my cheek, funny. Sleepily she looks around, and everything seems quite, but she sees Maglor is gone. Hmmm off to the relive himself I expect, she thinks. Wistfully she wishes that he would come sit next to her, and put his arms around her and warm her with his fancy words, and his own inner fire. Silly bard, she smiles, silly innocent, sweet man. She shrugs, and soon is asleep again.

Part 1

"Damn him!" shrieked Polradia, crumpling a fragment of paper and tossing it into the remnants of the previous night's campfire. "Stupid, stupid man!"

The half-elven cleric bolted up from his bedroll in wakefulness. "What - eh? What has he done?" Quickly, he fumbled forward and rescued the note from the dying embers, scratching his beard as he read it. "Well, it appears our fearless leader has departed on his own."

"What has he done?" asked Vren D'Lunarae, now also awake.

"He's run off... he's run off..." responded the elven girl, as she collapsed in grief.

"He will be back, will he not? Did he say?" questioned the blue elf.

Spag joined in, with a hint of hesitation. "This is bad news for us all. I heard him slink off into the night but I thought he was just answering the call of nature."

"W-we should go look for him! I can probably track him down," offered Kyilaliana, as she quickly moved to inspect the area.

"Gone looking for an old lady love!" cried Polradia, as much to herself as the others. Getting up, she finds an large oak tree nearby and gives it a good kick. "Drown his sorrow...hrmph... drown his sorrow...if I ever get my hands on him I'll drown his sorrows!"

Vren gently tugged the ranger's shoulder. "It's not our place to force him to come with us, Kyil. His will is strong."

"He is foolish to go alone in such a strange and dangerous land!" barked the orcish gladiator.

"But... he formed us..." said Grimbergen, still trying to grasp the situation.

Kyilaliana pulled herself away from Vren. "I...I'll go look...just to see."

"Hrmph! I would have expected this from Maglor, but to leave us at such a time as this?" exclaimed Grish in disgust.

"I wasn't good enough, eh?" Suddenly, she pulls out her bow and bashes the tree to fight back the tears. "Stupid man, see if I care!"

Grimbergen darts over to her and envelopes her with his arms. "Pol! He's just sorting things out. It's because he does have such strong feelings for you, that he first needs closure elsewhere."

The tears she so vainly tried to hold back now flowed. "Well to hell with him, let him go then!"

"We draw our strength from our companionship, not one man," sighed Grish.

"We can go on without him for a time -- I am sure once he tires of boredom he will return to us," said the elven wizard optimistically. "Hopefully he'll be able to find us."

"If Tyr has fated him to join us again, he will."

"Perhaps we can leave him some sort of signal as to our direction of travel," thought Vren out loud.

"Kyil, any sign of where he was headed?" asked Spag.

She dejectedly replied, avoiding eye contact. "I...I can't tell, Spag. Just...north."

Pulling herself away from the young man's embrace, Polradia approached Vren. "Can I borrow that pipe?"

"Now's not the time!" admonished T.A. Grimbergen.

Ignoring him, the blue elf reaches into his knapsack and retrieves his pipe for the lady. She lights it up and takes a few puffs, and regains her composure within moments.

"Pol, temper your anger with some compassion, we do not know what is in Maglor's heart," suggested Grish as she looked at him with a glazed eyes and a half-baked smile.

"Is...is it really alright to... leave Maglor?" asked Kyilaliana sheepishly. "He's... alone out there."

"He would not have left it he did not feel it safe to do so," consoled the cleric.

Polradia, intoxicated, lamented with a slur. "Well all I know was he kept going on and on about me being in his heart, and then he takes off to see another woman."

"Though I think it is probably a dangerous move, we should leave markers for him just in case he decides to come back to us," commanded Spag. "The danger is that someone or something else picks up our trail."

"Be wary of what we leave behind, lest our enemies find it as well," agreed Grish.

"A signal that only Mag would know, perhaps?" asked Vren.

"I don't. I think you should just let him rot! Why put ourselves in danger? He went off to see his lady love!" cried the elven thief. "Like I wasn't good enough!"

"I... I could leave some elvish markings," the ranger considered.

"A reference to our slavery perhaps?" Vren offered.

"Or perhaps something of Pol's," said Grish. "I am sure he would seek her first when he returns."

Kyilaliana arranges some markings in the ash of the firepit. Spag then hands her some small stones and rocks. "Kyil, use some stones in case it rains again."

Polradia pulls out the dried flowers from her pack and shoves them at Grish.

"I will accept these, Pol, but I return them to you through Maglor, for I am certain of his return," he replied.

Spag rounded up the group. "We should get moving soon. I don't want to have whatever evil is affecting this forest to start affecting us... as it may have already affected Maglor."

"This is positively the last time I ever listen to sweet talking bards, I swear it!" stomped Polradia, as she moved ahead scouting, all the while dabbing away the tears from her eyes.

The quarter-orc's human compassion took over as he muttered to the others, "I think perhaps I will try to be gentler with Pol now."

Part 2

They quietly marched southward. Usually their silence was due to a careful investigation of the foreign surroundings, however, today it was for other reasons. The bard was not here to contribute lively observations and poetry, and no one seemed interested to step in his place. Even the usual chirping of the birds were absent. Everyone kept to themselves, as though it were a funeral procession.

The foliage grew denser as they progressing deeper into the forest. Huge oaks sprung in every direction, their knobly contortions seemed unnatural in the backdrop of other straighter trees. Leaves, cones, and dry twigs littered the forest floor, snapping and rustling and announcing their progress to everything in the woods. They journeyed for almost a day, with no end in sight.

Abruptly, the forest ended in a steep cliff. It was a deep and unnatural crevasse, but it appeared to have been here as long as the forest itself. Roots of the ancient oaks could be seen holding on to the edge, and the chasm seemed to separate one part of the woodlands from another.

Perplexed and intrigued at the same time, they followed the edge of the chasm. Soon a bridge was noted in the distance. Approaching with caution, everyone was unsure of what to expect.

"I...I think there might be someone ahead, hiding," noted Kyilaliana Jadystana, as she inspected the ground. On the ranger's cue, everyone drew their weapons.

As they edged closer to the bridge, sure enough, the trap was sprung. Out of thin air, dwarves clad in blood red and black armor appeared and yelled their battle cry. Axes flew at the adventurers, and one lodged itself into Spag's large kite shield while another struck a Brother Grish in the leg, bypassing his protective leather leggings.

"Duegar!" roared Spag as he charged in with his battle-axe. T.A. Grimbergen stormed another of the dwarves with his shield, momentarily knocking the duegar off balance, and followed the engagement with a swing from his katana.

Vren leapt in with his longsword to block an attack on the Grish as he was pulling the throwing axe out and attempting to stop the bleeding with a prayer of healing. Kyilaliana discharged a few arrows to assist the blue elven mage.

Polradia snuck up to the dark dwarf cleric, who was busy incanting a curse upon the adventurers. He soon noticed her approach and pulled out his ornate mace to thwart her assault. She locked his weapon with her gladius and stabbed the sword in her right hand. He realize her tactic and rolled away. Pulling his mace free, he pummeled her in the side and scored a good hit. The elven rogue staggered to regain balance, and he took that advantage to deliver another strike. This time she dodged it, and also managed to cut a small wound in his forehead. Suddenly he collapsed, an arrow in his back courtesy of the ranger.

The grisly blood-soaked field of battle was not a pleasant sight. Grimbergen noticed a glimmer from the dead priest's mace and walked over to pick it up. He wiped away the blood from it, and marveled at its exquisite dwarven craftsmanship. It was an ornately carved, solid steel shaft with flanges mounted on the head, but felt extremely light in his hands.

"Hey Spag, you want this mace?"

Looking over it, the orcish gladiator responded. "Naw, it's too small. I prefer my big blades like this axe or greatsword."

Suddenly the young man realized that it was perfectly suited as a cleric's weapon. Grish gladly accepted it and seemed adept in its use.

A strange wooden gate blocked passage across the bridge. Polradia deftly moved to inspect it for traps.

"It's not trapped, but it certainly is locked and beyond my lockpicking skills," she said.

"Well then we'll see how it handles my sword!" Spag draws his two-handed sword and takes a giant swing at the door, but it bounces back the entire force of his attack and knocks him off his feet.

Polradia helped him up and suddenly the thought hit her. "Wait! I remember know... remember this key we found in the Duegar base that didn't match any lock in there? I'll bet that's it."

The key fits, and the gate swings open by itself. The woods on this side of the forest show a strange sadness, with most of the gnarled old oaks having lost its leaves and desolate against the darkening sky.

There appeared to be a dirt trail leading directly from the bridge into the dark heart of the foliage. One ambust a day seemed enough for the group, so they circumvented it and looked for other options. Moving to the right of the path, the cautiously scouted the area.

A small creek seemed to circled the forest center. Polradia and Kyil approached it, and the thief had a sudden sense it was might be a danger. Something about the water, even though it looked clear and inviting, didn't seem right. The ranger sense it too, and warned the others.

However, the Grish had lagged behind and not heard, and took a step in to the stream to cleanse his bloodied and muddied boots. The half-elven cleric bolted back in a shock of pain and surprise. The toes of his left boot had melted upon immediate contact with the water.

"Grish, are you alright?" asked Vren, rushing to his aid.

"Aye...Tyr was watching over me. My toes are intact."

"Well, it looks like you have a pair of hole-y boots now!" joked Grimbergen.

Spag stared at them and grabbed the two ladies who were moving too far ahead. They resumed the exploration, making sure everyone was in step.

After an hour and completing a circle around the center, the had exhausted all options but the trail from the bridge. They could not move in any other direction, as it would lead into the chasm which surrounded this region. Mustering up the courage, they marched in.

"What heathen idol is this?" Grish demanded at the sight of a strange rock formation in the entrance of the forest heart. It was shaped like a giant head and carved with a frowning face.

"Careful..." cautioned Vren D'Lunarae.

The center was actually an empty clearing, flanked by old oak groves. One of the trees seemed to be swaying, even though there was no wind. Upon closer scrutiny, it appeared alive and moving as though an animal, and the gnarled wrinkles on its body almost resembled a human face.

Polradia did not feel comfortable at all within a forest with living trees. She started backtracking. "Stay back," she warned, "if it gets hostile I will run to you, T.A."

"Hold," said Vren, with a bit of confidence. "I have heard of such man-trees. Treants, if I am correct. I believe they are normally good-intentioned."

What looked like eye sockets on the living tree soon focused on Polradia, and it spoke in a deep monosyllabic voice, "Hail. Who comes into my forest."

She trembled a little and mustered a response. "'Tis I, Polradia, and my friends."

"Well, hail, Polradia. What can I do for thee."

"We seek the mystery of the Drisk forest," she replied.

"Well I grow tired. Please, let us rest and speak of this in the morning."

Realizing the tranquility of the area, Polradia agreed. "Aye, we do need to rest."

"Good. Then ye rest," instructed the treant.

Everyone felt the same serenity and peace in the area. And although it was well past evening, the weather was fair, and even a bit warm, obviating the need for a campfire -- which also prevented any offense the burning of wood might have with the treat. Everyone huddled around, and quietly ate the once dry rations, now soaked after the long days of rain. The thought of Maglor's absence still clung on their hearts, and they longed for a song they were accustomed to when they set up camp.

The next morning, each one awoke around the break of dawn. The treant stood there, staring at them, in the same position as it had been the previous night. It was agreed to that Vren should try to converse with it, given his lore skills.

"Why do you not rest?" it asked.

"We had a peaceful night's sleep, and don't need any more."

Its face turned into a mask of scowl. "If you do not need rest, then you are not of the forest!" The treant said it in such a matter-of-fact tone that it sent a chill down his spine. Without warning, two of its massive branches swooped down and pinned him to the ground, choking him.

Grimbergen quickly pulled out his katana, and using both hands, chopped down one of the branches strangling Vren. Just as his sharp blade cut through the wood, another one of the treant's branches curled around his torso and lifted him into the air, forcing him to drop his sword.

Not a second behind him, Spag grabbed his battle-axe and came to the elf's rescue as well. He ducked and avoided the hostile tree's first attempt at him, and brought down the axe so hard it went through the bough that trapped him and plowed itself deep into the dirt. Instead of wasting energy pulling it out, he reached for his greatsword and parried another attack from the tree.

Meanwhile, as Kyil fired arrows which the massive tree just absorbed as though it were mere mosquitoes to cover Polradia as she dragged the unconscious blue elf out of danger. The cleric Grish had finish his prayer of blessing upon his friends, and charged in with his new mace.

After ensuring Vren was out of the treant's reach, she saw her friend trapped, and wrenched Spag's battle-axe out of the earth with both hands. Teaming up with Grish, the two managed to break the grasp of the bough that had secured Grimbergen.

The half-elven priest was then knocked in the back of the head by another limb from the treant. Kyil saw the attack upon Grish, and dashed in with her sword before the tree's arm could pummel the fallen cleric again. She easily darted out of the way of another incoming branch, and hacked away Grish's aggressor.

By now, Spag had cleared away almost all the branches around the right side of the treant, and had an opening to the tree's trunk. While Grimbergen helped Grish out of danger, the two elvish ladies joined Spag in hacking through the tree's bark.

It then toppled over as though felled by a lumberjack. However, it also began disintegrating before their eyes. All that remained where it originally stood was a large black acorn. Grimbergen picked up the large acorn, and brought it to Vren, who had began to regain consciousness.

As he looked over it, a loud thumping and rustling of leaves approached the group. It was another treant, even larger than the first.

"My forest has returned... but where is my brother?" it called out, in a booming voice similar to the other.

"Uh-oh..." murmured the blue elf simultaneously with Grimbergen.

"Tyr protect us!" wailed Grish as he kneeled in prayer.

"Say something, Vren! You said you knew these things!" yelled the young human warrior, as the walking tree approached him and Vren.

"Gah..." The elf was stunned into silence.

"Hail," greeted the treant to the two.

"H-hail, great one. Your... brother?" asked Grimbergen meekly.

"Ye have take care of my lost souled brother?" it asked.

Spag confronted the treant. "Unfortunately, he gave us no choice."

"It is understandable. He was tainted. May I have his heart?"

Vren looked down at the blackened acorn in his hands, and offered it. The treant extended a branch and politely took it. "May your brother rest well," the elf said.

"I take it you were not affected," said the orc gladiator.

"Me? Nay, I left the forest after he ate the bark off the dead tree. I snuck back to burn that tree. It was the hardest thing I have ever done."

"What caused this madness?" asked Spag.

"It was caused by the bark of a dead tree, but I had burned it. Then the dark dwarves came when my brother went black. And soon after, the orcs and gnolls began waging war with one another."

"So the Duegar were involved," commented Grish.

"Well, we are glad to have brought some peace back to the forest," said Spag.

"As am I. Now my brother will sleep in peace."

"Tye give blessings to the departed soul of this tormented forest creature, and forgive him for his sins," prayed Grish, with head bowed.

Spag then remembered Maglor. "Have you seen a lone elf wandering the forest?"

"Lone elf? Nay."

"If you perhaps notice him, please help him, for the sickness of the forest may have affected his mind."

"If it did, he will soon be released from it," replied the treant.

Polradia then joined in. "Hey, I don't supposed you could rustle up some food for us, or at least tell us where to find some?"

"Ye need some food? How about some berries?" A few seconds later, a great flock of birds appeared overheard, everything from small sparrows to pigeons to large hawks, and delivered a load of berries, fruits, and nuts.

"I must leave now," it said, as they collected the gifts from nature.

"Wait -- one more question -- was the strange ten days of rain caused by this as well?" asked Grimbergen.

"Aye. Already the sun shines upon the water, and it will soon stop boiling from the darkness."

"We.. we are glad that we could ...could aid you in your time of need, earth friend. As... as a sister of the wood, I... I wish you peace," offered Kyilaliana.

The treant reached down and brushed her forehead with some of his leaves, and departed.